A Holmesian Heritance
by ChimericalMind
Summary: Stories, drabbles, and one-shots on the pseudo sons of Sherlock Holmes-Stanley Hopkins, Billy, and Wiggins.*First story on here, so apologies for any mess ups*
1. A Small First Entry

1 First Entry-

From the personal journal of John H Watson.

The narrations of the life my friend, the great Sherlock Holmes, and I in this particular book will, to the best of my ability, never grace The Strand. Not for reason of containing horrors that the public should never have in there minds-on the contrary, it is reasons of personal history and affection, for it and in it, that I keep this book to myself and those who are heirs in the Holmesian Heritance.


	2. Fellowship of the Pipe

_A/N: The first chapter was just an intro, now the actual strabbles can begin. I have difficulty with computers so please be understanding. Also, after reading Cryptix's "Art Runs In the Blood", I finally decided to write the stories in my head. So blame her._

Many are aware of the absolute knowledge of anything or anyone criminal that my close companion, Sherlock Holmes, possesses. From any criminal who has not aligned himself to any outfit, to being well-informed of the obscure Professor Moriarty and the almost undetectable works of his empire. With a mind for noticing the smallest connections, there is no organization's web he cannot see. Save for one.

Long had I noticed the benevolent timing of cases when periods of inaction had come upon us, periods which gave chance to the awakening of the sleeping beast-cocaine, that had preyed on the mind of my friend during our earlier years. Often, my fears for him would take hold of me throughout these spells, and just as I would think the breaking point might be reached-a marvelous case would find its way to our door. Few thoughts went to these blessed interventions, until I had taken notice of the actions of a few others in our lives.

I had discerned a third party during the case of "The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter" when, in the middle of a lack of activity, Mr. Overton came to us for help. I barely recalled that a few days prior to the entreaty, Billy and I had talked about the current situation of Holmes. At the end of our talk his eyes seemed to distance himself for a mere moment. I did not think much of it since, like Holmes, Billy's eyes have always made his thoughts indiscernible, but where Holmes has lack luster grey eyes, the eyes of our calm page seem to be composed of an enigmatic green fog. My mind also almost didn't recall that I had seen Billy give a letter to an Irregular who then went running off with it. I had thought it was a letter sent by Holmes, but memory had served me then for I remembered that he had remained in either his bed or his chair and Billy had remained downstairs all through that day. In thought I connected that the Irregular had run in the direction of Scotland Yard, and that it was Inspector Stanley Hopkins who had sent Mr. Overton to our doorstep.

I then began to look back over other times of inactivity and saw many of the same actions occurring. It made me wonder how I, or Holmes for that matter, had not seen it all along. Then I realized that we both had obsessed so much over the times of quiet that we did not bother with anything but the silence and Holmes' mind.

Many a time I have wondered if I should tell him of his unknown league of guardians, who put so much effort into keeping him safe from himself. Each time I deciding against it. It is probably best that he does not know of the Casebook Cabinet, if his unequaled skills of observation cannot see this web than perhaps providence intends for it to be unknown. Besides, it takes a great worry off my mind knowing others can watch him when I can not. I thank the good Lord in my prayers for the assistance and I thank them in my stories, though only a very close eye could ever see it.

It is a fantastical circle: Holmes anonymously keeps the entire world safe, his pseudo sons keep him happy-unknown to him, and they are praised unknown to them-"Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might be…."


	3. Bartitsu Training

Bartitsu Training

An early spring morning found the lodgings of 221 Baker Street to be the arena of a fight scene, or less dramatically called-a spar. My fellow lodger, Sherlock Holmes, was giving his weekly lesson to our page boy, Billy, in the art of Bartitsu. Although Billy's demeanor and interests or more alike to Mycroft Holmes, Billy shares with the younger Holmes a love of the martial arts. His tactful mind combined with his natural fighting prowess is the exact reason that Holmes gave this young lad the job of guarding the doors of our humble abode.

The room's furniture -and all contents breakable- were moved into either mine or Holmes' bedrooms, giving enough space for the student and the teacher. I stood against the wall with an amused and observing eye as Holmes lead Billy over warm-ups and basic moves. Only ten or so minutes of the spar had passed when I heard someone at the front door.

Holmes heard it as well. "Ah, it seems we have a visitor. No, no, Billy, no need for you to answer it. Mrs. Hudson knows that this is your training time, and I know who it is for I have been expecting him."

After a few footfalls on the stair way, we were joined by Stanley Hopkins, a few papers in hand. His alert eyes swiftly looked around at the rearranged décor and easily pieced together what was going on. With a small grin on his face he handed Holmes the papers.

"I gathered all the papers you asked for," He said. "I also got the other details you wanted from Jones. I wrote them down and they are in there as well."

"Thank you, Hopkins. I believe these notes will be of use to my current case." He replied. He read the papers while crossing over to his reference books, is mouth and brows setting in agitation with each step. I approached with a leisurely pace, not wanting to disturb the small wrestling match Billy and Hopkins had commenced, with Hopkins using his height and weight to his advantage.

I asked my companion what he found troubling.

"A ruthless character whose trail I am upon. As well as the thought that comes with these training sessions with Billy- if a character like this were to come, will he have enough skill to hold his own?"

A loud, resounding thump was heard from behind us. Both Holmes and I turned around with tense posture, only to pause, and then start shivering with mirth at seeing a grinning Billy, standing with great pride, and finding a bewildered Hopkins _finding_ himself on the floor.

* * *

_Just in case anyone is wondering why I called it Bartitsu - it was called Baritsu in the book but the fighting style was called bartitsu in real life, and that both Doyle and Barton-Wright(guy who invented it) both wrote to Pearson's magazine and Doyle might have mis-read/mis-heard/mis-remembered the name, or it was a typo in the print._


	4. Manners

"Yesterday?" Hopkins asked. "He's been out all night?"

"He's been going in and out of the house for the past few days," I replied, motioning for him and Billy to set the boxes from Mycroft onto the table. "He stayed out all of last night, but told me that he would be back in the morning. He said it was just reconnaissance and my assistance was not required."

Hopkins held his box with one arm while clearing scattered newspapers to make a spot for Billy's. "Well, when he gets back, tell him Lestrade said that-"

Hopkins halted himself and then looked towards the door. A second later the knob turned and the door opened, revealing a little old lady. She was wearing a rather big, navy blue hat and a black cloak that hid the rest of her clothes.

She lowered her head timidly towards the floor, her hat blocking her wrinkled face completely, and asked, "Is Mr. Holmes here?"

"No, my dear lady, I am afraid he is not." I said.

She pulled a white handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it up to her face. Paying no heed to us, she made her way to the couch, shaking her head and whispering the words "Oh, dear. Oh, dear." with each step.

I tried to approach her after she had seated herself on the couch, but when I did she broke out with loud, sorry wails. I resigned myself to my usual chair and waited for the poor woman to find herself. Billy placed himself behind the settee, waiting for any sign on what I would want him to do. But the only thing I could think of was that I hoped Holmes would hurry home.

Hopkins slowly moved to the other end of the room, staring at the aged woman as if he were trying to discern something. I sent a pointed look towards him and made a note to myself to talk with him on his ill-manners.

The Lady seemed just about to have calmed, when suddenly the door opened and the captain of Holmes' secret police strutted forth. He began asking for Mr. Holmes when I cleared my voice and inclined my head in the direction of our guest. He turned to the guest. The ruddy face of the Irregular leader and the wrinkled face of the elderly lady stared at each other.

Wiggins smiled like a Cheshire cat and said "Y'know, the blue in tha' hat really brings out your eyes." and then he leaned forward and batted his eyes!

My jaw dropped, Billy remained composed but paled, I heard Hopkins cover a laugh with a cough, and Wiggins kept his grin unfalteringly.

I spluttered, trying to get words out to both Wiggins and the poor Madame at the same time, failing miserably at even sounding coherent. My jabber was interrupted by a deep booming laugh.

It came from the elderly lady.

I looked and saw the face of none other than Holmes himself. I heard him say, in between his laughter, that he had trained himself for many reactions from people but never something like that.

After finishing his laughter he praised Wiggins for his penetrating eye, and then he turned to the rest of us.

"A thousand apologies, my dear fellows," Holmes chuckled. "I have fooled many people today and was still in a duping delight* when I saw all of you fine gentlemen in this room. The temptation was more than I could bear, you see. Do forgive me for being so ill-mannered."

* * *

_*Duping delight is a phrase I believe from Dr. Eckman, a psychologist on emotions and facial expressions. Duping delight is the pleasure felt when successfully fooling someone. Holmes is not quoting him, I just really like the phrase._

_Also this is the order of who can see through Holmes' disguises, from easiest to hardest - Wiggins, Hopkins, and tied are Watson and Billy._


	5. Nicknames

_Wow, I have been gone a while. Sorry about that. My life became really complicated and busy after my last drabble. Anyways, now a new drabble and a hope that I will not have such a long break inbetween this one and the next._

I was sitting at the table enjoying my lunch prepared by the ever kind Mrs. Hudson before she left for the market, while my friend Mr. Holmes sat in his armchair reading a book with a title whose language I could not guess. Both of us looked up from our interests hwne what sounded like an owl came from the stairway, along with very heavy footsteps. The door opened to show Wiggins, hands cupped around his eyes, and making the sound "HooOOooo.." while Hopkins carried him into the room like a rugby ball.

Hopkins had a look of utter exasperation.

Wiggins squirmed out of Hopkins arms and marched over to me at the table. He stretches his arm straight as a pole and pointed at me accusingly. "You need to write the truth!"

I looked to Holmes and back to the irregular. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me! You must stop with polite words and tell it like it is!" He slammed his fist on the table while pointing with his other hand to the young inpsector. "Hopkins looks like an owl!"

I spluttered. "W-w-what?"

"I do not." growled Hopkins.

"Stop being nice to him in your stories! You called that Lestrade 'rat-faced' and 'ferret like', which he is. But you say 'young looking' and 'alert eyes' for him when what you mean to say is 'he doesn't look older than Billy' and 'he has hoo eyes like an owl'!

"'Hoo' eyes?" inquired Holmes from his chair, enjoying the little scene.

"Y'know, like an owl goes 'Hoo, hoo'. Thats what Hopkins looks like. And I think thats how you should describe him the next time he is in a story." He once again cupped his hands around his eyes. "Hoo-pkins, Hoo-pkins."

Hopkins crossed his arms and glared at Wiggins like he wished to dangle him from the ceilng by his ankles. "Isn't it bad enough that you have everyone at the Yard calling me Inspector Hopscotch of Scotty's Back Yard?"

Holmes let out a what sounded like a cough and the asked "And why do they call you that?"

"Because, that is what he walks around London calling himself when he pinches my badge!" Replied Hopkins, never taking his eyes off of Wiggins.

Although the rest of us were on the verge of laughing, the eldest and the youngest were glaring daggers at each other.

Holmes sensed a chase around the room to erupt, and furntiture damage to occur.

"Billy, would you bring up something to drink for the two of them?" Holmes asked. "Preferably something cold to cool them both down with." I suggested under my breath.

"I would, sir, but unfortunatley," Billy said while inclining his head towards the door. "Mrs. Hudson is letting her cheese crumpets cool in the kitchen and I have been told not step into the kitchen until after she returns from the market." he paused and then added. " Which should be in half and hour."

Wiggins eyes had a sudden glint to them. He stuck his hands in his pockets and said "Well, while you gents talk up here I will find something better to do with my time." Wiggins tried to walk as innocently as possible in the direction of the vulnerable crumpets, while Hopkins gave Billy a thankful look. Billy gave a nod and then followed after Wiggins to make sure that some crumpets evaded Wiggins' mouth.

"I hope that your fellow yarders are not being too cruel to you with nicknames," I said, still smirking at the unseen Billy and Wiggins.

"Most have relented," said he, rubbing the back of his neck. "But... A few enjoy giving me necknames a little too much, and I doubt it will ever cease. The silver lining is though, that I do not have Lestrade's nickname. Which was caused by you."

"Oh, what do they call him?" I asked, hoping it had nothing to do with 'ferret' or 'rat-faced'.

Hopkins eyes twinkled and he leaned forward.

"Well, since he appears so much in your stories...in the magazine...Everyone calls him 'LeStrand'."

At this Holmes could not contain himself.


End file.
